


Checkmate

by tragedybunny



Series: Live Like Legends (League of Legends One-Shots and Requests) [4]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29003304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragedybunny/pseuds/tragedybunny
Summary: LeBlanc Has Won Their Grand Game
Relationships: Emilia LeBlanc/Jericho Swain
Series: Live Like Legends (League of Legends One-Shots and Requests) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127705
Kudos: 1





	Checkmate

“What was that you said? You were winning this little game of ours?” He didn’t answer her jab, but she hadn’t really expected him to. The Matron set the bottle of Demacian Ice Wine, his favorite, on the High Altar with an audible clink that reverberated throughout the darkened Temple of the Wolf. Beside it, she placed two glasses and then herself, settling on the stone surface as though it were a throne. Such sacrilege, but neither she nor her companion had ever cared much for the opinion of gods. Even with her countless years, she could bring nothing to mind that served as proof they had the barest interest in mortals, if indeed they existed at all.

The light of a sparse few candles sent shadows playing all about them, or perhaps, as tradition would tell them, the spirits of ancient ancestors had gathered to witness this moment. Spirits at least, she knew from horrid experience, were quite real. With a snap of her fingers, the cork vanished from the bottle and a saccharine scent wafted from it, the wine normally one too sweet for her tastes. “Let us have a toast to us, my dear Grand General.” As she poured, her pale hand clutched the bottle tighter than was truly necessary. “For never have I had a more worthy opponent.”

Lifting the crimson liquid to her lips, she drank deeply, and let out a heavy sigh when the last drop disappeared. Her glance found the second glass beside her, untouched, never to be touched. With an uncharacteristic outburst of raw fury, it was hurled into the distant blackness, shattering against the flagstones. “Damn you!” She hissed, not knowing if her anger was directed at him or herself.

Filling her glass again, she rose from the altar to approach him. “Why?” Her voice quivered with that single word and it was anathema to her. Who was he to stir such turmoil in her? He was no more than the others ultimately, a mortal who could not pry the Empire from her grasp, who never had a hope of besting her. “Why did you not heed my council for once? You had to let your hubris rule you, to demand that your vision be the only which would guide Noxus.”

She had come at last to stand over him, staring at the face that seemed to still bear that grim scowl of his. Grand General Jericho Swain lay in state, awaiting his funeral pyre at sun’s first light. Not even her powers could change that. She reached out with a gesture that was unmistakably tender and tucked an errant strand of silver hair back into its place. “I did warn you that what you sought in Ionia would be the end of you. You never could trust me though.”

She drained the contents of her glass and casually let her it fall from her grip. The noise of it fracturing reverberated in her soul and a hollow laugh escaped her. “Now, at last, I am victorious. Noxus is mine, and always will be.” There was no true joy, no exhilaration, nothing that she should feel with her greatest threat removed. There was only a sort of desolation, a profound sense of being alone. Errantly, a hand reached towards his face, softly stroking a cheek as cold and unfeeling as the grave.

A screeching whine interrupted her solitude, one of the temple’s smaller side doors swung open. The sparse illumination revealed the hulking figure of the presumptive soon-to-be Grand General, the Hand of Noxus. “Somehow, I’m not surprised you’re here.” He made no attempt to conceal the contempt in his voice. Darius was never one for the finer points political maneuvering and intrigues, preferring more direct methods.

Of course, he may find himself in need of an advisor on that front in the days to come. Ignoring his malice she smiled at him, ever so slightly. “Good evening Darius.” She summoned another set of glasses to her hand and turned back to the High Altar to fill them. “Care to join me in a drink for our dear fallen Jericho?” He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicion evident. “No tricks, I promise.” After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and took it from her hand. She allowed their fingertips to brush, the touch lingering longer than necessary. One game ends and another begins.


End file.
